by Sarah Webb
He’s lit the storm lantern and some of the tealight holders. The air smells strange, slightly salty and acidic, then I spot a greasy brown bag.
I swing around and stare at him. ‘Have you been eating chips up here? It stinks.’
He just shrugs. ‘I was hungry.’ He flops down on the mattress and pats it. ‘I’ve kept a place for you.’
I linger for a minute, the logical part of my brain begging me not to, the emotional, needy part trying to win me over. Needy wins and I sit down beside him. ‘No funny business, OK?’ I say.
He chuckles. ‘’Course not, Jules. I’m practically a married man, remember? Just wanted to say goodbye properly. Once Lainey has that ring on my finger, my footloose days are over. She’ll probably have me filling out time sheets to account for my every step.’
‘And she’d be right not to trust you.’
He pouts. ‘Ouch! That’s most unfair.’
‘Really? So she’d be delighted to know exactly where you are at this exact moment, would she? How about I tell her?’ I pull out my mobile.
He just smiles at me. ‘You wouldn’t do that to me, Jules. You’re a big softie underneath it all.’ He picks up the open bottle of champagne and pours me a glass. He holds it towards me.
I hesitate. I know I shouldn’t take it, especially after Bird’s recent tirade. But I can already feel the bubbles breaking over my tongue and the sweet surge of alcohol in my system. I don’t just need a drink, I want a drink so badly it hurts. Just one glass, I tell myself, taking it out of his hand. Besides, it’s medicinal, it will make talking to Ed easier.
‘Champagne?’ I say. ‘My, we have gone up in the world. Don’t mind if I do.’ I take a long swig, downing half the glass in one go, then splutter and cough a little as bubbles race up my nose.
He pats me on the back and then tops up my glass again. ‘Watch those bubbles, Jules, they’re lethal.’
I lie back against the cushions and relax as the familiar rush makes my insides tingle.
I tip my glass against his. ‘To your impending marriage and my impending . . .’ I pause, not knowing quite what to say. I don’t have a huge amount to look forward to at the moment, so I just let the end of the sentence hang.
‘Kiss,’ Ed says gently, and moves towards me.
I put my hand up and push him away.
‘Ed! You promised.’
‘Oh, come on, Jules, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a kiss. No one will ever know.’
‘I’ll know. How can I stand there watching you take your wedding vows, promising to be faithful to Lainey for the rest of your life, when I know it’s all a lie?’
‘It’ll be different once we’re actually married. And I will do my best to be faithful.’
I stare at him. ‘Do your best? That’s pathetic.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m just being honest. What happens if Lainey balloons after having kids, or goes off sex or something?’
‘Then you’ll just have to deal with it. Not go off and find some slapper who is happy to overlook the fact that you’re wearing a wedding band.’
He gives a dry laugh. ‘You’re such a romantic, Jules. Everyone has affairs, it’s part of life. And stop being so high and mighty. You didn’t push me away a few weeks ago, did you? I seem to remember we had a rather passionate snog.’
I can feel my cheeks flame. ‘That was a mistake. You don’t deserve Lainey. She’s devoted to you. We may not be close any more, but I still care about her. I have a good mind to tell her exactly what you’ve just said.’
His eyebrows arch. ‘Why? She knows what I’m like but, unlike you, she accepts me for what I am. She seems happy enough to turn a blind eye when she wants to. And she’s hardly a saint herself is she? Coming on to her best friend’s guy?’
My back stiffens. I know he’s right, but I can’t stand his smug, self-satisfied expression any more. Suddenly the scales fall off my eyes. Ed Powers is a pig. I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time thinking about him, worrying about him, loving him. Because that’s exactly what it was – a waste. I’ve been such a fool. I grab the champagne bottle and take a long swig, then another, until eventually the whole bottle is empty. Then, feeling a little queasy, I stand up.
‘I’ll see you at the wedding, Ed. Not before and certainly not after. We’re finished. I have no idea what I ever saw in you.’
I step towards the door, duck under and turn around at the top of the platform to climb back down the rope ladder. He follows me and grabs my arm.
‘Don’t go, Jules. I’m sorry, I know I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to marriage. But I’m just trying to be realistic. Plus I’m freaking out and it’s the only way I can cope with the whole concept of getting hitched. Stay, please. For old times’ sake.’
‘Ed, this is getting boring. Please let go of my arm.’ I try to pull it away but he’s holding tight. I push my free hand against him, but it unbalances me. I stumble and feel myself falling backwards.
‘Jules!’
For a split second I hear Ed shouting and then – nothing.
I open my eyes and wince as bright light hits my pupils. My head feels like it’s been thumped with a sledge hammer. I swallow down some vomit, my eyes watering from the burning acidic taste in my throat. My arms are heavy, I try to move them but they seem to be pinned down. There’s some sort of mask over my mouth and I shake my head a little to dislodge it, but it makes my neck hurt so I stop.
‘Thank God,’ I hear a voice say. ‘She’s awake.’ It sounds remarkably like Pandora.
A strange woman in a paramedic’s uniform removes the mask and says, ‘Take it easy now, and try not to move. You had a nasty fall. We’re taking you to St Vincent’s Hospital.’
‘Fall?’ For a second I don’t understand. Then it all comes back to me in a rush. The tree house. I slipped off the platform. I gasp and try to sit up again, making my whole body hurt.
Pandora appears, leaning over me, her face pale. ‘You’re all right, Boolie, lie back now, take it easy. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘What’s wrong with me?’ I say. ‘Am I broken?’
She gives a breathy laugh. ‘No, Boolie, you’re not broken. You got knocked out but the ambulance crew think it’s just bad concussion. You had a lucky escape, fell on one of Bird’s leaf piles. But I have to ask, were you drinking? Your eyes look a bit unfocused and your breath smells funny.’
I give a tiny nod and whisper, ‘Yes. Champagne.’
‘And what were you doing up there with Ed Powers?’
‘I’m sorry, she needs to rest now,’ the paramedic says, putting her hand on Pandora’s arm. ‘And you must put on your seatbelt.’
‘Sorry,’ Pandora says, and then I hear a loud click. Pandora must have buckled herself back into her seat.
The woman pats my shoulder kindly. ‘Nearly there now.’
I lie still and think about what Pandora’s just said. What was I doing in the tree house with Ed? My first and correct instinct was to tell him to go to hell. And if it hadn’t been for Bird’s leaves who knows what might have happened. Why did I down all that champagne? To stop Ed’s words hurting me? To numb the pain? The disappointment of wasting so much time and energy on him? Or simply because I just wanted a drink? Because that would be the saddest answer of all. My eyes well up again and I blink away the tears.
I hear Pandora’s voice say, ‘Don’t cry, sweetie. I’m here and I won’t leave your side, I promise.’
Which only makes me cry even harder.
Several hours later, after a doctor has checked me thoroughly in the A and E and I’ve finally been allocated a bed; I’m in a hospital ward in one of those flappy at the back hospital gowns, still feeling a bit groggy. I can’t make out if it’s the concussion or the lingering after-effects of the champagne. Probably both. Pandora’s sitting beside my bed, flicking through a magazine. Every so often a nurse comes to take my temperature and check my pupils, but apart from that we’re left pretty much alone.
> I’m the only person under sixty on the ward and the woman beside me has been snoring away ever since I climbed into the bed. Now and again she stops, and I look over, worried she’s stopped breathing, but then off she goes again, like the local fog horn.
The first question Pandora asked as soon I’d been popped into bed and the nurses had left was about Ed. My eyes had filled with tears and I felt so overwhelmed by stupidity and regret that I couldn’t even speak, so she let me be for a while.
But now she puts down her magazine and asks, ‘What on earth were you doing in the tree house, Boolie? And why was Ed there too? Talk to me, please.’
I shrug, which makes my neck hurt a little and my head throb. Tears spring to my eyes again.
‘Sorry, Jules, I don’t mean to upset you. We can talk about it later if you’re still not ready.’
I sigh. She’s been very patient and she deserves an explanation. She asked me several times in the A and E and I brushed her off then too.
‘He called over to say goodbye before the wedding,’ I say. ‘Brought some champagne.’
She stared at me. ‘I thought you hated him.’
‘It’s complicated. We were together for a long time. I guess part of me still loves him.’ I stop for a second. Actually that’s not true. Right now, I have no feelings for him whatsoever. Suddenly I feel lighter than I have in months. ‘Loved,’ I correct myself. ‘Definitely past tense. And where is he anyway? What happened after I fell?’
‘Ed knocked on the door so loudly it woke up Iris and made her cry. I went outside and found you lying there on the leaves, unconscious. I got such a fright, Jules. Then I found your pulse and figured you’d been knocked out. Ed had already called an ambulance, so he waited with me while it came. I asked him what the two of you were playing at but he was being pretty evasive. Said he just had to talk to you. As soon as he heard the sirens he left pretty abruptly. Said he was sorry but he couldn’t stay. Had to get back to Lainey. Stupid fecker.’
I think about this for a second. ‘He didn’t wait to see what the ambulance crew had to say?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re right, he is a little fecker.’
‘And then the ambulance arrived and you woke up when we were driving through Blackrock.’
‘What about Iris? Did you leave her on her own?’
‘No. Jamie heard the ambulance sirens and ran over. Must have just missed Ed. Poor guy nearly passed out himself when he saw you, went so pale. He wanted to go with you, but I asked him to stay with Iris instead.’
‘That was decent of him. I can’t believe Ed ran off like that.’ I bite my lip. After everything I’ve done, it’s Jamie who has my back, not Ed. It’s always been Jamie. I’ve made such a mess of things. But it’s too late now. My eyes water.
‘Oh, Boolie, don’t. Ed is not worth it.’
I laugh through my tears. ‘I know!’
She pats my hand and leaves it there for a few minutes before pulling it away. She looks around and sighs. ‘This place is so depressing.’ We both hate anything to do with hospitals.
‘What do you expect?’ I ask. ‘Pink walls? Dance music? And, hello, you’re supposed to be the one cheering me up, not the other way around.’
She looks contrite. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’m just tired.’ On cue, she gives an almighty yawn.
I glance at my watch. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s nearly midnight. You should get back to Iris. I’m fine on my own, honestly.’
She shakes her head. ‘Bird and Dad have it all under control. They’ll both be in first thing in the morning. One night sleeping in a chair isn’t going to kill me. Dad used to do it all the time,’ she adds softly. ‘But you probably don’t remember.’
I stare at her. It’s not something we mention in our family, ever. She’s talking about when Mum was really sick and we were all staying in Bird’s house. Dad moved the old squishy armchair from the living room up to Mum’s bedroom and stayed there most nights, his legs stretched out in front of him, a rug thrown over his body. Bird tried to make him sleep in his own bed, get some proper rest, but he refused. Like Pandora, he said one night sleeping in a chair wasn’t going to kill him. Towards the very end he stopped for some reason.
‘Yes, I do remember,’ I say in an equally soft voice. ‘I was nine, Pandora. I remember everything. Mum dying, Dad going all funny, you trying to take Mum’s place.’
She looks upset. ‘No, I wasn’t. I was just trying to look after you and Dad.’
‘I didn’t mean it in a bad way,’ I say gently. ‘But you must admit you did smother me a bit. You even made me sleep in your bed with you.’
She stares at me. ‘That was because of your nightmares. You didn’t have so many horrible dreams in with me.’
‘Was I really that bad?’
‘Yes.’ She strokes the side of my head. ‘You used to wake up screaming and ranting about all kinds of weird stuff.’
‘You’ve never told me that before. Ranting about what?’
She sighs. ‘It doesn’t matter. Forget about it.’
‘I want to know,’ I say stubbornly. ‘Please? It’s important.’
‘I don’t see how it can be. It was such a long time ago.’
I want to tell her – about how I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, heart pounding, howling on the inside, having learnt long ago not to attract attention by screaming out loud. But I can’t. I bite the inside of my lip instead.
She studies my face, her eyes soft and kind. ‘You still get them, don’t you, Boolie?’
I nod and then lower my gaze and stare at my hands which are twisting in my lap.
Pandora sighs. ‘Are they very dark?’
My head still dropped, I nod again.
‘About your hands being covered in blood?’ she whispers.
Tears drip down onto the hospital blanket and I wipe them away with my fingers.
‘Sometimes,’ I say, remembering the recent dream triggered by Iris’s near miss.
‘Come here.’ She puts her arms around me and holds me tight against her chest. I can smell her orange blossom perfume, feel the slightly scratchiness of her jumper against my cheek.
‘I’m so sorry, Boolie. You should have said something. I can’t believe you’ve had to go through it on your own all these years.’
We stay like that for ages, until finally she draws away. She pushes my curls off my face.
‘Do you think it has something to do with Mum’s death?’ she asks. ‘It must have frightened you so much. You were so young and seeing her so sick like that . . .’ she breaks off, pauses. I can see it’s hard for her to find the words. She swallows, looks out of the window for a second, and then back into the room.
‘It changes you, doesn’t it?’ she says eventually. ‘I tried to get Dad to find you someone to talk to about the nightmares, someone professional, but he said you’d grow out of it. But if you’re still having them, years later . . .’ she tails off again. ‘I should have tried Bird instead. Dad was all over the place.’
She pauses. ‘Boolie, I have to ask you, and please don’t shout me down. When you drink, heavily I mean, do you still have nightmares? Or do they go away? Is that why you do it?’
It’s not something I’ve ever consciously thought about. Yes, it makes it easier to get to sleep, but it doesn’t banish the images from my head. In fact sometimes it makes them worse and I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, my heart thumping out of my chest, and I can’t get back to sleep again for hours. I’m not comfortable talking about this any more, so I stare out of the window myself, hoping she’ll get the message and change the subject.
But Pandora’s not one for giving up.
‘Boolie?’ she says.
And then again, ‘Boolie?’
I swing my eyes back towards her. ‘That’s not why I drink,’ I say, answering her question.
‘Then it could be your genes.’
‘What are you talking about?’
I stare at her. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I overheard Dad and Bird discussing it one evening. It was just before Bird made you visit Sheila. Dad was begging her to tell Sheila but Bird refused, said it was irrelevant and she wouldn’t have all that dragged up again. I went straight in, confronted them about it, told Bird that Dad was right. But then Bird talked us both around, you know how persuasive she can be sometimes.’
She sighs. ‘But I’m sorry, I should have said something earlier, you had a right to know and this family has far too many secrets already. He died from liver failure and alcohol poisoning, went on an almighty bender after a rugby match and never came out of the hospital after it.’
‘Not a heart attack?’
‘No. But that’s what Bird told everyone. I think she was ashamed at the truth. It was hardly her fault, but I think she blames herself for not being able to help him.’ I try to take this in. I’d always been told that my grandpa, Derek Schuster, died of a heart attack when he was thirty-eight. I’ve seen photographs of him – he was a bit overweight, but he had a lovely wide smile and twinkling sky-blue eyes.
‘Which is why Bird is so worried about my drinking,’ I say.
‘I’d say so.’ Pandora looks at me. ‘Boolie, do you think it’s time to talk to someone about it? I know you don’t drink every day, but you can’t keep having accidents like this. And I read in the paper the other day that eighty per cent of rape cases involve alcohol. Imagine if something like that happened to you? I’d never forgive myself.’
My face crumples and before I know what’s happening I’m crying into my hands.
Pandora looks shocked. ‘What did I say? You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’
‘That night you collected me in the industrial estate, this guy,’ I gulp, but try to continue. ‘This guy attacked me. In the beer garden at Dicey Reilly’s.’
‘Jesus! Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I couldn’t. I was drunk and confused. And you were so annoyed with me. You told me to shut up and get in the car.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Pandora’s eyes well up. ‘I had no idea. But nothing happened, did it? He didn’t . . . you know.’